


The White Bison

by kingofcarrotwallflowers



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arthur is a bastard, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, I wrote this specifically for my friend, John is sexually frustrated, M/M, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Praise Kink, Spoilers, This is mainly John and Arthur. Everyone else is briefly present, Urination, Violence Towards Animals (Hunting), Watersports, morston, slight daddy kink, tagging that just in case, they go on a hunting trip and john really has to pee, you can read this as high or low honour Arthur but i play High Honour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofcarrotwallflowers/pseuds/kingofcarrotwallflowers
Summary: Arthur invites John along to hunt the Legendary White Bison. They almost have sex in a tent. They definitely have sex against a tree. Arthur gives John a very specific task.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	The White Bison

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by “golden boy” written by Anonymous on here. This time the watersports aspect is much more intentional. If you like this please go read that one as well. There are some similarities between the two works and I hope that doesn’t offend anyone. This is just for fun. I haven’t done any creative writing in while so I’m a little rusty. Enjoy!

When Arthur had approached John at the campfire, he had been expecting the usual questions about how his scars were healing and whether or not he had any new leads. He didn’t look up from his whittling when he heard the older man’s cheerful, “There he is,” instead focusing on his work.

“Hi, Arthur,” he said.

“Ride with me,” Arthur ordered rather than asked.

This caught John off guard and he looked up at him, idly shifting the knife in his hand. “Where to?”

Arthur adjusted his hat on his head and nodded towards their horses. “Was plannin’ on heading up into the Grizzlies again, up near Lake Isabella. Hosea gave me this map with a bunch of big animals on it. I was up there scouting when I found that Arabian,” he explained as he began walking towards the hitching posts, knowing John would follow. “Met a feller in West Elizabeth, a trapper, who’ll pay good money if we can bring him the albino bison ‘s’been seen around those parts,” He added, turning to see John adjusting Old Boy’s saddle beside him. 

“A bison, huh?” John asked, uncertain. He wasn’t so keen on the idea of going back up north. His encounter with the wolves aside, he didn’t like the cold.

“Yeah, a big bastard of a bison,” Arthur pulled himself up into his saddle. “And make sure you’ve packed some different clothes, Marston. It’s a couple day’s ride and if you freeze to death in your union suit I’ll just leave you there,” he chided.

John’s stomach twisted itself into a knot with the way Arthur looked at him. It felt as if he was looking right past his clothes; through him completely. 

“I’m not that dense, Morgan,” he stiffened.

“Course not.” Arthur spurred his horse forward and started down the trail towards the river. 

John would’ve been lying if he’d said he wasn’t glad to be going on this trip. The pair had been fooling around— if that’s what you wanted to call it— now for the past few months. It wasn’t nearly often enough for John, seeing as he was a man in his mid-twenties and was still spry enough to be itching for a rut at least once every couple of days. Their lifestyle, however, rarely permitted him the time or privacy to get up to anything. Especially with Arthur. Had John any sense in his head, he’d find better excuses to leave camp, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, people looked at him funny if he just up and left. While Arthur seemed to be permitted to come and go for days— or sometimes weeks— at a time, if John so much as wandered further than the surrounding brush for his watch or to clumsily hunt squirrels, he was confronted by Dutch or Hosea or Abigail. It was fair points that they made; he should be resting, he should have a lead by now, he should be spending some time with that boy of his. All was better said than done, and more than anything, just plain annoying considering it made it near impossible to sneak out to whatever place Arthur marked on a sketched map left in his tent. 

Before they left, John had packed his own tent, but he had no intention of using it. He briefly considered putting it together on the off chance that someone wandered off the trail and tried their luck in harassing them over having just the one. After the whole ordeal in Colter, he was itching for a fight just as badly as he was itching for a fuck, so he decided to take his chances. 

They stopped to make camp for the night just north of Cattail Pond. It wasn’t quite dark out yet, but Arthur had insisted that it was hard enough to track a white bison in the snow during broad daylight, let alone the waning evening sun. John found that he couldn’t argue with that. Not that he would’ve even if he could, since it took no real convincing for him to not sleep in the snow. 

He’d just finished skewering the fish they’d caught at the pond onto sticks shoved into the ground in front of the fire when Arthur came over to sit beside him, having finished with the tent. 

“Y’know, you could’ve at least offered to help with the tent, Marston,” Arthur chided, although it lacked venom.

John snorted. “Yeah, well, I was busy making a fire to cook these fish of yours,” he glanced over at the older man. “Seein’ as how grouchy you get when you ain’t eat,” he added.

“Shut up,” Arthur tugged one of the sticks from the dirt and took a bite. “Just for that I oughta keep these all for myself, seein’ as  _ you _ didn’t manage to catch any,” he said around a mouthful of perch, shaking the stick at him for emphasis. 

John rolled his eyes despite knowing that the threat wasn’t completely empty. That was just their dynamic. Arthur had a habit of denying him things. John didn’t always hate it. Knowing this, though, he still mumbled his thanks when Arthur handed him one of the other skewered fish. 

The rest of the night was mostly uneventful, much to John’s disappointment. He had thought— hoped was a better word— for a moment that Arthur had been pulling out a tin of animal fat not for making fire arrows, as he had been, but for using on him. However, John wasn’t oblivious to the way Arthur had meticulously cleaned his Springfield rifle. He didn’t have to look at his face to know that, while John watched him slowly rub the oily rag along the barrel of the gun, Arthur was eyeing him from under the brim of his hat. When they finally settled into the tent for the night, John didn’t know what he was looking forward to, but he was going to enjoy it regardless. He was settled on his back for maybe thirty seconds before he felt a firm hand caress him through his union suit. His breath hitched at the feeling of Arthur mouthing at his throat, a low hum against the skin, their stubble scritching against one another. 

“Arthur,” he sighed, reaching up to card his fingers through the other man’s hair.

Arthur caught his wrist and pressed it into the bedrolls. “Nuh uh,” he chided before proceeding to kiss everywhere except John’s mouth. 

John whimpered as he was groped through the rough cotton of his undergarments, growing stiffer under the touch. He desperately wanted to touch himself, or Arthur, or to do  _ something _ , but the bigger man had him pinned. He could feel Arthur hard against his thigh as he sucked at the soft skin on his neck. Testing the waters, he awkwardly pressed his leg up against Arthur’s groin, trying to create some sort of friction— trying to encourage him into moving forward with what they were doing. The soft groan in his ear set his skin on fire.

Arthur couldn’t get enough of John like this. The younger man was always ready and raring to go at the drop of a hat, which made teasing him and edging him along easier, and all the more pleasing. Perhaps it came from being older, the sore joints and aching muscles begging Arthur to take these things slowly. However, if he thought about it, he was sure there was something more sadistic to it. He could feel the beginnings of a wet spot on the front of John’s union suit, and a wicked idea came to him.

Just as quickly as it began, it ended. Arthur kissed one of the more tender spots on John’s neck before he promptly rolled over and away from him. He palmed lightly at himself and ignored the eyes boring into the back of his skull. 

John was dumbfounded. “What the hell, Arthur?”

“We’ve got a big day ahead of us, John, we need you well rested,” Arthur explained in a tone so casual it was infuriating. It was as if the last couple of minutes had never happened.

“Well rested? How the hell am I supposed to be well rested now? If anything, if you just let me finish then-“ 

“You’ll finish when I say you finish, Marston,” Arthur spun back around on him, his tone threatening. “Now quit your yammering and go to sleep,”

John just stared at him. 

“That’s what I thought,” Arthur added smugly and rolled over again, facing the tent wall rather than the man he had just felt up. “Maybe if you’re good I’ll reward you tomorrow.” 

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the night. 

When John awoke, Arthur had already brewed coffee and changed into his thick winter coat. He was humming some diddy to himself as John left the tent as if the night before had been no different than one spent in camp. 

“Mornin’. Sleep well?” Arthur asked casually. He handed him a mug of coffee without looking up from the nearly-dead fire. 

John grunted his answer noncommittally and accepted the drink, stretching his back and taking a sip. 

Arthur stood, finishing his own coffee before making to pack up their camp. “We’d best get moving,” he said. “Leave the tent for last. You’re planning on changing into something warmer before we take off, I hope,” he added, gathering up his bedroll and tying it to his saddle. 

“Would you let up? Why do you always gotta act like this? I am a grown man, Arthur,” John groused. “I am fully capable of taking care of myself. I might freeze just to spite you, now,” he tipped the last of his too-hot coffee down his gullet, ignoring the burn, and tossed the mug to the other man. 

“Alright there, boy. Watch your tone,” Arthur chided him, putting the tin mug in his saddle bag. 

John was feeling particularly hostile this morning, and pointedly knocked shoulders with Arthur as he passed him to re-enter their tent to change. Arthur had been treating him like a child since before they’d left camp. Normally, that meant the older man was sweet on him and John was usually happy to be babied as it made him feel special. Being at the centre of Arthur Morgan’s attention— when the man was in the right mood— was something to be cherished. However, this time it felt like a punishment. He had originally thought that this trip would be the opportunity to be properly fucked that he had been itching for. Instead, he was being strung along and, perhaps, he was wound a bit too tight to go along with it this time. 

When he came out of the tent, Arthur was kicking out the remains of their fire. The rest of their camp had been packed. Neither of them spoke while they disassembled the tent. Afterwards, as John was unhitching Old Boy, Arthur handed him a heavy waterskin. 

“Here, drink this,” he said.

John examined it, then looked at him questioningly.

“I wanna try something new,” Arthur explained.

John still wasn’t convinced. He opened it and gave the contents a skeptical sniff. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Still, he sensed Arthur was up to something. “I don’t appreciate being left in the dark, Morgan,” he said.

“Just drink it,” Arthur repeated, but his tone was soft. His eyes said  _ trust me _ , and John knew from experience that what this specific tone really meant was  _ you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.  _

John kept their eye contact as he drank the entirety of the water within. The  _ “Good boy,”  _ he received in response told him he made the right decision. He didn’t know what game Arthur was playing, but he at least felt like he was an active player now. He suspected, too, that the stunt Arthur had pulled the night before had been the first round, and he had succeeded. 

The hunt took longer than he had anticipated. Arthur cursed under his breath when the first shot he fired rang out into the mountains and missed the bison, sending the beast bolting up the hill and into the trees. What a beast it was, John thought. He’d never seen an animal quite that big before in his life. He hadn’t considered bisons to be particularly magnificent creatures. Big, sure. Tough, certainly. He even understood some as to why the Native Americans liked them so much. Now, though, seeing what was probably the biggest animal in the state, one with such beautiful white fur, he was in awe. That might have been why he was slow to pull his trigger, and even slower to follow Arthur when the other man took off after the bison. That would be his excuse if he was asked, although he was distracted by his need to relieve himself. 

“Damn it!” Arthur cursed when they slowed to examine the tracks. They had lost it for the moment. 

John was just about to speak up when Arthur raised a hand to him. He followed his gaze to where he was pointing. He could see that the bison was not too far away, circling back through the trees. He watched as the other outlaw calmly leveled his rifle, pulling back the hammer, and fired. The animal cried out and then slumped to the ground, dead. He clapped Arthur on the back. “Good shot, Morgan,” he said, then slung his own rifle over his shoulder. “Hey if you don’t mind I’m gonna take a leak before we head back,” he added, turning to walk over to one of the nearby trees. 

Arthur grabbed him by the elbow. “Not so fast, Marston. Come help me skin this thing. It’s why I brought you out here in the first place,” He tugged him towards the bison, letting go of his arm once he followed.

John snorted. “And here I thought this was your idea of a romantic getaway. But no, you just need me to lift bison parts,” 

“I never claimed to be a romantic,” Arthur replied smugly, cutting open the beast’s belly. “If you want to be romanced you oughta earn it. Now help me roll this bastard over,”

“You always did have a way with words. Really know how to make a man feel special,” 

“Shut up,” Arthur chuckled, moving to remove the horns as John slid the pelt out from underneath, rolling it carefully. He handed the younger man the horns before making cuts into the meat and wrapping them in cloth, dropping them into his satchel. He whistled for his horse. “Least Pearson’ll be happy,” he said. 

John hoisted the heavy pelt onto the back of Old Boy, forgetting his need to piss for the time being, and climbed up into the saddle. “Got everything you need? I’d rather not be out here when the wolves smell that thing,” he said, looking around. The hunt had lasted all morning and they still had to pass through more wolf territory— according to Arthur— on the way to the trapper. 

Arthur hummed in response and pulled himself up onto Sugar, his Arabian who, as she had been fittingly named, blended into the snow as well as the bison had. “C’mon, girl.” he said, and began leading the way out of the grizzlies. 

John shifted impatiently where he stood, having already browsed the trapper’s wares twice over now. Arthur was busy chatting away with the man, looking over the small leather-bound book filled with sketches of different custom garment sets. John didn’t fully understand how the man could estimate an article of clothing to be made from an animal he hadn’t even seen, but he didn’t rightly care enough to ask. The trapper had given them a good price for the materials and Arthur had marked on a map for him the rough area of where the carcass was. How this man managed to collect these carcasses before they rotted or, more likely, animals got to them, he truly had no idea. That question, he feared, had an answer he didn’t want to know. That, he figured, or it was just too complicated a procedure for him to understand. All that aside, he was growing restless. 

Almost on cue, Arthur said to him, without looking up, “John, why don’t you head on down to the stream there. I think I saw some rabbits over there. Maybe wash up. I’ll be down there in a minute to clean the bison off.” 

“Yeah, alright.” John clucked his tongue, signalling for Old Boy to follow him. 

Arthur had been right about the rabbits. He managed to shoot two and hung them from his horse before he went to wash his hands in the water. He dried them off on his shirt and sniffed them. They still smelled like bison, and he figured they may for another day or more. Being so close to the stream, he was reminded that he had never gotten the chance to urinate before they came down the mountain. He had just unbuckled his gun belt when he heard his horse whinnying. The low telltale growl of a cougar came only moments afterwards from the bushes behind him that he was using for privacy. Before he could react, the cat pounced at him. 

He fumbled for his gun, the loose belt flopping unevenly against his hip. He managed to pull it free and aim it just in time for the cat to be shot clean through the skull from further away. 

“That’s a big rabbit you found there,” Arthur said, amused. 

John huffed and put his gun away, embarrassed at his lack of awareness. “I could’ve got it,” he said defensively. Arthur’s apparent lack of concern for the situation dug at him a bit. “It probably smelled the rabbits. Which I  _ did _ get, by the way,” he added. 

Arthur chuckled, inspecting the deceased animal before beginning to skin it. “Or maybe he just didn’t like that you was about to piss on his tree right where he was sleeping,” he replied. “Did you even see it layin’ there?” 

“Clearly not, Arthur,” John said harshly. There was that tone again, chastising him for an honest mistake. Swooping in to save him not because it was necessary but just because he could. 

Arthur stood up and put the pelt on his horse. “You really oughta mind the way you speak to me, boy,” He said cooly. 

John watched him silently as he went to clean the blood from his hands in the stream. He shoved his hands in his pockets— a habit he had developed when he was younger to avoid showing his frustration as he dug his nails into his palms. He remembered his father saying,  _ you don’t make a fist like that ‘less you intend to hit me, boy.  _ He was so wrapped up inside his own head that he hadn’t noticed Arthur filling up that waterskin again. 

“Drink up.” Arthur commanded, pushing the pouch against the younger man’s chest. 

John’s brow furrowed. “I’m not thirsty, Arthur,” he said, confusion washing the frustration from his face. “Actually, I’d prefer if you gave me some space so I can finish taking a leak,” he added.

Arthur pushed again, firmer. “I said drink up, Marston,” he insisted, locking eyes with him. “Unless of course you don’t want the reward I had planned for you,” 

This snapped John out of it. Something in his brain clicked. His mind ran wild with possibilities. He knew that tone. He knew what game they were playing, now. He didn’t know all the rules yet, but he knew what it meant when Arthur Morgan offered a reward. The memory of the night before played behind his eyes. He took the waterskin now and drank from it deeply. 

Pleased, Arthur glanced around. They weren’t far from the road. He backed John up against the tree he had been planning to urinate on. His hand found its way to John’s lean stomach and he pressed on his bladder. The soft whine that elicited stirred something within himself. When John finished off the water, he took the pouch back and dropped it into his satchel. 

John’s breath caught in his throat when Arthur leaned into his space, and he could feel his face warming. 

“Now you listen to me, boy,” Arthur growled low in his ear, hand still firm against him but not actively pressing. “You’re gonna hold it all the way to camp. You’re not gonna relieve yourself until I say you can, got it?” 

John nodded. He liked where this was going.

“If you can do that, be a good boy for me, then we can sneak off again, once everyone’s busy, and you can take me proper,” he paused, nipping at his jaw, and pulled out a tin of vaseline from his satchel. “Picked this up in town last week. Should slick you right up. Would you like that? Me inside you?” his breath was hot against the shell of John’s ear. 

John nodded again, more vigorously this time. 

Arthur pressed his hand against John’s groin, feeling his semi through his rough cotton pants. “What was that, boy?”

John huffed through his nose. “Fuck, yes, Arthur. I want that.” 

Satisfied, Arthur pulled away. “Good. Let’s get going then,” he said, and just like before, the transition back to his casual self was seamless. 

John took a moment to compose himself, attempting to will away his erection. The ride back to Horseshoe Overlook would be uncomfortable enough with how badly he needed to piss. He didn’t need the chafing as well. When he climbed up into his saddle, Arthur signalled for him to follow and began down the road. 

“Pearson’s gonna make one hell of a stew with those rabbits and the leftover bison meat, tell you what!” He said excitedly, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened between their stop at the trapper and now. 

John found he was already beginning to feel full now that he was in the saddle again. It was going to be a long ride.

Somewhere between Strawberry and Riggs Station, Arthur had made John ride ahead of him. The bastard wanted to watch John’s desperation grow. Although the man had cooed many praises along the way—  _ what a good boy you are, that’s my boy, you alright, Marston? we’re gettin’ there, boy— _ he was still enjoying the display in front of him. It wasn’t long before he had insisted that they cut across the Dakota River, making John trail along the water’s edge. The splashing and gurgling of the water made him squirm in his saddle. When John stood up in his stirrups, he had considered making the man get down and walk instead, but he had already slowed their pace due to John begging him. The jostling of the steady gallop had been too much for him, and so Arthur had acquiesced. They were close to camp now, coming up on the bottom of the hill, and he didn’t want to ruin their fun prematurely. 

John nearly jumped out of his skin when Javier shouted from the trees, “Who’s there?!” 

“It’s Arthur and John, dumbass!” Arthur had laughed. 

“Welcome back, cabrón.” 

Something about finally returning to camp caused John’s need for release to ramp up drastically. He held tightly onto Old Boy’s neck for a moment to brace himself once he hopped down from his saddle. He needed to compose himself if he was going to last until Arthur gave him the okay. 

“C’mon, Marston, grab those rabbits,” Arthur instructed casually as he made his way over to Pearson’s wagon. 

John inhaled deeply and did as he was told, following the other man. 

“Arthur! John! You’ve brought me something good, I hope!” Pearson greeted them cheerfully, coming around to the meat table, wiping his hands on his apron. 

“Of course,” Arthur hummed, retrieving the bison meat from his satchel. 

Pearson whistled in approval. “Well would you look at that,” he said as he examined the thick slabs of meat. He then noticed the two fat rabbits John held by the legs. “Those will cook up nice, John. Just put them on the table over there, I’ll skin ‘em and add ‘em to tomorrow’s stew. Today’s is just about done.” 

John nodded and did as he was told, putting the rabbits down on the table next to where Sadie was cubing potatoes and carrots. Arthur was telling Pearson about the bison when he came back around. He had to pause suddenly as a wave of desperation came over him, forcing him to slouch forward, his hands on his knees, trying his best not to piss himself in the middle of camp. He let an audible groan slip out

“You alright, John?” Pearson asked, turning away from Arthur, effectively missing the smug look on the man’s face. 

“Don’t worry about him, Mister Pearson,” Arthur reassured him. “He just pulled a muscle up there. The fool almost threw his back out,” he added. 

Pearson chuckled. “It’s none of my business, I'm sure,” he said, quieter than before and then went back behind the wagon again to help Sadie with the prep work. “Food’ll be ready soon, boys!” he announced to the rest of the camp. 

John began the slow walk over to the scout fire, praying Arthur would permit him release. He really didn’t want to wet himself in the middle of camp. Damn Arthur’s reward. If he didn’t give him the go ahead soon he was just going to have to miss out on whatever Arthur had planned. 

Arthur followed close behind. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked lowly when John made it to the scout fire and then continued to wander past it, into the brush. 

John stopped in his tracks, squeezing his legs together. He looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. “Please, Arthur,” he begged. 

As much as Arthur would have loved to watch him make a mess of himself in front of the entire camp, he just as badly wanted John all to himself. Also, he was more concerned about his own stiffening cock, and wasn’t as keen on the idea of being caught with a hard on from witnessing the poor display. That, and John was begging now. The younger man was facing away from him, but he knew he was near his breaking point. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold it,” John added, whining. 

Arthur felt flushed and shoved John forward, relishing the sound he made. “Go on, then, boy,” he led him into the little wooded area surrounding their camp. 

“Oh, fuck,” John hissed and then, more urgently, “ _ Arthur,” _

The older outlaw pulled him by the elbow roughly, yanking his hand away from his crotch, and lined him up in front of a tree. He began unclasping John’s gunbelt when the man whined again. He was squirming around so much now that Arthur’s hand kept slipping and he struggled to remove the belt. It fell heavily to the ground and John’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Oh  _ god,  _ Arthur, I-“ John’s voice cut off and a soft hiss sounded from in front of him. 

Arthur could see a dark spot forming on the front of his pants, slowly growing, trailing down his right leg. John leaned back against Arthur, moaning. He really had held it as long as he possibly could have. Arthur was impressed, and incredibly turned on. He held him tight to his chest, kissing his neck softly. “That’s a good boy,” he praised him, nipping at his earlobe as he did so. He was thankful that, with the evening sun sinking below the cliff side, they were hidden amongst the shadows of the trees and bushes. The chatter of camp as everyone gathered for dinner made it less likely for them to be heard, but not impossible, if one knew what to listen for. 

John was still going and Arthur could feel his tears of relief sliding down his cheek when he brought his hand up to cover his mouth. There was no reason to draw unnecessary attention to themselves.

John obediently sucked two fingers into his mouth as his bladder finally emptied. He groaned around them when he felt Arthur’s hard cock pressed against his bottom. 

The larger man rolled his hips forward. His free hand loosened from his grip on John’s shirt and slid down to the front of his pants. They were completely soaked. John had held all of that for him, and he felt a sense of pride. “You did so good,” he whispered against his skin, palming John’s growing erection through the wet fabric. “You know,” he tenderly kissed the spot where John’s jaw connected with his ear. “I reckon we could sneak back to camp and into your tent before anyone sees us,” he trailed off. 

John whined deep in his throat.

“Or,” Arthur groped him firmly, feeling how hard the other man was already. “I could take you further into these trees and have my way with you in the grass,” he purred in his ear. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, boy?”

John nodded. “Uh huh,” he said around Arthur’s fingers. 

Arthur hummed in response, pleased, and pulled his hand away from John’s face. “We’d better hurry, then, ‘fore anyone notices we’re gone,” he said, guiding John forward, towards the small hill that led up to the South road. 

To say that John was embarrassed would be putting it lightly. He had never wet himself like that— at least not while sober— and certainly had never gotten so much pleasure out of it. To have someone watch him relieve himself, especially while holding him and pressing their hard cock up against him, was completely new. He’d never even so much as dreamed of anything like that. Sure, once or twice he had engaged in a few unspoken-of things in the bedroom during his time. The fact that he engaged in sodomy at all was enough of a clue that his sexual experiences hadn’t always been exactly pure. There was also the habit Arthur had of working him up so slowly it was almost painful, and then sometimes wouldn’t even let him touch himself to finish. He even remembered a few times with Abigail where she had gotten so worked up she’d pissed a little. She’d told him then that some people in the business actually did it on purpose. All in all he’d never expected to engage in anything like it himself, let alone while fully clothed. Despite that, he was extremely turned on by it. There was some sense of pride in knowing that he had held it until the very last possible second, and he had done exactly as Arthur had asked. The praise from the older man only helped to edge him along. 

When they were sufficiently hidden and far enough away from the camp that the only possibility of being walked in on was if whoever was on watch decided to try and bag a squirrel, Arthur pressed him firmly against a tree. He tossed John’s gun belt which he had retrieved back onto the ground next to them. “You were so pretty when you was squirming in your saddle, trying not to piss all over your horse,” Arthur cooed in his ear as he began unbuttoning John’s shirt.

John huffed through his nose. “Yeah, well, I’d like to see you try and ride while you’ve gotta take a leak,” John said defensively. The combination of being praised and antagonized was stirring something in his loins, and he looked away. Javier would be handing off his watch soon to Bill, but would be taking the other trail back to the camp, probably.

Arthur brushed his hair away from his neck and replaced it with his mouth, sucking at the soft skin. 

John tipped his head back against the tree and sighed contentedly. He slid his hands down Arthur’s chest, tugging the shirt up and untucking it from his pants. He fumbled with the clasps on Arthur’s suspenders as the older man moved to his exposed collarbone. He wasn’t a particularly patient lover, and the events of the last two days had done nothing to help with that. While normally Arthur’s tendency to take his sweet time didn’t bother John too badly, his body felt like it was going to burst into flames. His muscles were all wound up tight and his nerves felt tangled. He had been desperate to finish the night before, had been desperate to piss all day, and now with the wetness in his pants growing cold he was desperate to strip and fuck. 

Arthur let him push his suspenders off of his shoulders and unbuckled his gun belt while John made quick work of the buttons on his shirt. He watched the younger man eye him hungrily as he ran his fingers through the hair on his chest and held his gaze as John brought his hands up to his face. He gripped John by the hips and pulled him forward to finally,  _ finally _ , kiss him properly. His hat bumped awkwardly against John’s head and was knocked askew. John made quick work of pushing it off his head, running a hand through his hair. 

The younger man kissed like a starving animal presented with a feast, as if he needed to devour as much as he could as quickly as he could before it was taken away from him. Their teeth clicked together painfully before Arthur backed him into the tree again, taking the lead, and their mouths worked together rather than against each other. He ran his tongue along John’s bottom lip, feeling the scar tissue that split the one side, looking for an invitation. John opened his mouth and he licked his way inside, eliciting a soft moan from the other outlaw.

John rolled his hips against Arthur’s and he took the hint. He pulled away and unbuttoned John’s pants with a deftness that spoke of his familiarity. Without much warning, he shoved them halfway down his thighs, taking his undergarments with them. John’s cock sprung out into the cool air, standing proudly. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped when Arthur sunk to his knees in front of him, taking him into his hand. “Arthur, you don’t have to-“ his words got stuck in his throat when the man took the tip of his cock into his mouth. “ _ Ohh,” _ he sighed, his hand finding its way into the short brown locks of hair. If he had any less self control he probably would’ve come just from the look Arthur gave him, his eyes half lidded, deceivingly soft lips wrapped around John’s cock. 

John tasted much saltier than usual. His cock was damp, and to add to it, there was already a decent amount of pre come leaking from the engorged tip. Arthur closed his eyes and started a slow rhythm. One hand held John firmly against the tree by the hip and the other held John by the base. The thin, curly hairs were pressed flat against John’s skin and felt wet against Arthur’s knuckles. It didn’t take long before John’s thighs started to quiver and John was tugging at his hair, warning him. He abruptly popped off of him, not wanting their fun to end prematurely. John had waited this long for him; he deserved a proper fuck at the very least. Although, by the whine he received when he stood up again, he was sure John would’ve been just as satisfied to blow his load in Arthur’s mouth. 

“Turn around,” Arthur instructed him, unbuttoning his own pants. 

John took a moment to come back to reality and then obliged. While the rough feeling of the tree bark against his palms grounded him, it also made him wish they’d thrown caution to the wind and risked getting caught so that they could be in his cot right about now. He closed his eyes and listened as Arthur rummaged around in his satchel before making a satisfied noise in the back of his throat and dropping it to the ground again. Next, he heard the sound of tin scraping against itself as Arthur unscrewed the lid on that little pot of slick he’d shown John earlier. John then felt rather than heard Arthur adjust himself behind him, as he nudged one of his calves with a boot, signalling him to spread his legs a little further. His breath hitched when, without warning, Arthur’s fingers were up against his hole, rubbing the vaseline over the tight ring of muscle. 

“Shit, that’s cold,” John hissed, looking over his shoulder to scowl at him. 

Arthur squeezed his hip, rubbing his hand up over his flank afterward in a soothing manner. “Sorry,” 

John looked forward again, mentally preparing himself and trying his best to relax as he felt Arthur press more firmly against his entrance. “It’s been awhile,” he explained, although it was unnecessary. 

“I can tell,” Arthur replied and slowly pushed one finger inside him. 

John closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath as he felt the other man slowly slide out, almost all the way, before pushing in again. 

“God damn, you’re right, Marston,” Arthur praised him. “Missed this,” he added.

John felt his face flush again. “Me too,” he said.

As he was getting used to the feeling, Arthur added a second finger, this time crooking them up, trying to locate that sweet spot inside him. 

“Shit, Arthur,” John cursed when he found it. 

“Quiet, Marston,” Arthur whispered harshly, hesitating for a moment before continuing.

“Wh-“ 

“ _ Shh!”  _ Arthur hushed him again and this time John heard why.

Not far off, John could hear Bill and Javier chatting as the former took over the North trail watch for the night. John went to move away from the tree but Arthur, the sadistic bastard, held him firmly in place, boxing him in. 

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered before continuing to work him open. 

John bit the inside of his cheek and tried his best to stifle any moans that Arthur drew out of him. His senses were heightened now that the risk of getting caught had increased. His heart was hammering in his chest and it took every fibre of his being to choke back the sound that left him as Arthur hooked his fingers up against that bundle of nerves that made his toes curl again. He heard Bill pause for a moment mid-sentence as the man listened for whatever had made that sound, and he wanted to turn around and punch Arthur, but then he heard Javier say goodbye to Bill. A moment later and he could hear two sets of footsteps wander away from them in two directions. The sigh that left him was both from relief and from Arthur removing his fingers.

“Good boy,” Arthur praised him, kissing his neck, and squeezing his ass. He dipped into the pot of vaseline again and slicked up his cock before tossing the tin aside once more. “You ready, Marston?” he asked, his genuinity clearly indicating that what he was really asking was,  _ do you still want to do this? _

John nodded and said, “Please, Arthur,” his balls felt swollen, it had been so long since he’d had a proper rut. 

With John’s permission, Arthur lined himself up carefully and slowly pressed against John’s hole. He encouragingly rubbed his hand over John’s flank, his hand sliding up underneath the fabric of his shirt. He watched the younger man hang his head and take a shuddering breath as the head of his cock slipped inside him. “Shit, Marston,” he hissed through his teeth. 

Arthur was no small man, and even if he had been, two fingers just wasn’t enough to fully prepare John for having a cock inside him. He gripped the tree tightly, ignoring the sharp edges of the bark biting into his flesh. “Oh _ , God,” _ he moaned as Arthur bottomed out. He loved the feeling of Arthur’s hips pressed firmly against his ass almost as much as he loved the burning fullness. 

Arthur squeezed his hip soothingly and waited for permission, John nodding, to continue. He began his rhythm slowly, pulling out about halfway before pushing back in. The back of John’s thigh, he could feel against his own, was sticky from the drying urine. When John began pushing back against his thrusts, he picked up the pace a bit, hips snapping forward. He rested his forehead on John’s shoulder. “You feel so good, Marston,” he groaned. “You’re such a good boy,” 

John moaned, loving the praise. “Fuck, harder, Arthur. Please,” 

The older man was happy to comply and thrust into him more forcefully, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back into him.

John’s hands were slipping against the bark and he knew he would have to dig splinters out of his hands later. He didn’t care. “Yes, Arthur,  _ God.  _ Just like that,” he whined. He let out a moan louder than expected as Arthur hit that spot inside him again, punching the sound out of him. He hung his head, panting and unable to cover his mouth. If Bill hadn’t wandered too far down the trail, he would have surely heard that. The possibility of him coming to investigate only turned him on more, and with his arousal he became sloppier about trying to muffle his pleasure. “ _ Arthur,” _ he warned. He was dangerously close. “ _ Please, Arthur, I- _ “ 

Arthur got the hint and reached around to take a hold of his leaking cock. His pace slowed to deep, rolling thrusts, the tip of his cock brushing repeatedly against John’s sweet spot. He was very close to coming undone himself. With John’s length fisted in his hand, he ran his thumb over the slit and used the pre-come to slick up his movements as he stroked him in time with his thrusts. “Are you gonna come for me? You gonna come for  _ daddy _ like the good boy you are?” He cooed encouragingly in his ear. 

That sent John over the edge. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, vision going white, as he whined. His spend spilled out over Arthur’s hand and onto the tree, and his thighs. His whole body tensed up and he tightened around Arthur, who came moments later inside him. 

“ _ That’s my boy,” _ he groaned, riding out his orgasm to completion in an over-stimulated John. Once finished, he pressed himself right up against John, burying his face in the crook of his neck and breathing in his scent. He held him tight against himself, shushing him and whispering praises against his skin. 

John shuddered when Arthur pulled out, the sudden emptiness feeling foreign to him. He could feel Arthur’s spend leaking from him, and he became very aware of the fact that he was still covered in piss among other things. He desperately wanted a bath. He leaned back against Arthur, his breath stuttering, and he didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt the older man wipe away a stray tear. 

“You did so good,” Arthur whispered. 

“My hands hurt,” was all John could think to say at the moment, now acutely aware of the way his palms had been rubbed raw in some spots from the tree. 

Arthur kissed his cheek. “You head on down to the river, I’ll see if I can’t find you a clean pair of pants,” he said softly, helping John back into his soiled clothes before making himself look somewhat decent. 

John stayed in the brush as he made his way down the hill, crossing the path once Bill turned his back to him, and slunk down to the river. His pants chafed uncomfortably against his thighs and crotch from the wetness. He reeked of piss and now with the sun having disappeared behind the western hills, the air was quickly cooling, something he noticed more through his damp pants. He managed to get to the river without being seen and stripped down to nothing, tossing his clothes down at the base of one of the small trees dotting the river bank. He hoped Arthur would be able to get in and out of camp quickly and unseen. He didn’t fancy being exposed like this. While it was unlikely that someone might ride by at this hour, there were still a few folks about. The last thing he needed was to get ambushed or have some smart-ass come by with the bright idea of stealing his clothes and taking off into the night with them, leaving him naked and crouched in the shallow of the river. 

Just then, he heard an appreciative whistle from behind him. He smiled, brushing some of his hair behind his ear. “Like what you see?” He asked, having no need to turn around. He’d spent enough time around Arthur to recognize his whistle. He had been the man to teach John how to use it to call his horse. 

Arthur chuckled and leaned against the tree where John had left his clothes. He picked up the soiled pants and exchanged them for a pair of clean jeans he had found in John’s tent. Miraculously he had managed to sneak back into camp without anyone taking much notice. He had passed by the scout fire again, nodding to Javier who was seated there, poisoning his throwing knives. The man had acknowledged him and gave praise for the bison meat, but didn’t say much else. He was glad, once again, that their tents were beside each other. If anyone saw that he went into John’s tent instead of his own, they didn’t say anything. He took the same way back out, and when he passed the fire again, Javier had wandered off. Now, he kneeled next to the river, rinsing John’s pants and wringing them out. They would still need a proper wash, but at least now they wouldn’t smell as bad. “What can I say, Marston? You’ve got a nice ass,” he hummed, looking up from what he was doing to admire him again. His back was littered with small scars here and there, but most noticeable were the more recent, uglier, scars from his encounter with the wolves. He reached over and gingerly traced them with his fingers, following the water droplets that ran down his shoulders. “These ones are healing up nicely,” he observed. 

John sighed. “Are you coming in, or not?” He asked and then added, “I would say the water’s warm but it’s not,” 

“I can see that,” Arthur chuckled, taking notice of the way John’s soft cock had shrunk into itself. He patted him on the shoulder and stood up. “but nah, I think I’ll wait until tomorrow. Unlike you, I got a good whiff of that stew Pearson was cooking when I went for your pants and now I’m starving.” 

John snorted, standing up and shaking the water off his legs as he walked over to his clothes. “Suit yourself. You still smell like that bison.”

“And you.” Arthur corrected him, watching as he dressed. 

“Shut up, Morgan.” 

Arthur laughed, then turned towards the hill. “I’ll see you back at camp.” He said and started on his way back.

The rest of the night, the two hardly crossed paths. Arthur had gotten caught up in conversation with Hosea and Pearson, dramatically retelling the story of the hunt over a bowl of stew. Uncle had taken that as an invitation to dive into one of his fantastical stories about his time in the Congo. Abigail has accosted John as soon as she saw him, not bothering to hide her displeasure in him returning to the Grizzlies. Jack had asked him how big the animal was, but got bored once John tried to describe it to him. He couldn’t fault the kid for that; he wasn’t a very good storyteller. As he was eating, he had overheard Tilly asking Arthur about the soaked clothes he’d dropped off at the wash tent. Turns out the man had sacrificed one of his own shirts and a bottle of whiskey to mask the smell of John’s pants. He heard him give her some explanation that must have been satisfactory because she just shook her head and walked away. He had narrowly avoided a lecture from Dutch, slipping away while he was talking to Hosea. 

After most of the camp had settled in for the night, he had wandered past Arthur sketching in his journal. Jack was sitting beside him on the log, watching intently as he dragged his pencil over the paper. He was nodding and leaning heavily against the man. Abigail came over shortly afterward to put him to bed. 

“Goodnight, pa. Goodnight, Uncle Arthur.” Jack yawned as Abigail picked the boy up. 

“Goodnight, Jack.” John and Arthur said at the same time. 

John watched as the two went over to their tent for the night. When he looked back at Arthur, he was still sketching. He climbed over and sat down on the log beside him. “What’cha drawin’?” He couldn’t remember the last time Arthur had let him watch him draw. 

“Wanted to get that bison down before I forget what it looked like,” Arthur explained, tipping the journal to the side to better show John. 

John smiled. “Looks good so far,” he said.

Arthur smirked and looked at him from the corner of his eye. “What do you think about  _ this _ one?” He asked, flipping back a few pages to a vivid interpretation that made John’s face heat up. He slammed his hand down on the page, covering it, and looked around to see if anyone else could see it. It was a graphic drawing of John, bent against a tree, his used hole leaking with Arthur’s semen. He moved his hand away when he was sure no one else would see. Arthur had captured parts of him he had never seen before and seeing it now presented before him made his insides stir. He had even shaded in the spots on his hips where Arthur had gripped him, and he had noticed when he was washing up that they were turning to bruises. 

“ _ Jesus Christ _ , Arthur,” He hissed. He felt embarrassed and turned on and vulnerable and  _ seen. _ “It’s so…”  _ Descriptive _ , he thought. “Much.” He said.

Arthur bristled a little and shut the journal. “You don’t like it?” He asked, now regretting showing it to him. He hoped he hadn’t crossed a line by doing that. 

“No, no, it’s not that,” John put his hand on Arthur’s knee. “I like it, it’s just… different, that’s all.” 

Arthur looked at him hard. “You were so delicious looking like that. I had to draw it.” 

John swallowed a lump in his throat. 

They didn’t say anything else as they got up and snuck into John’s tent, tying the flap closed behind them. 

  
  



End file.
